


Sweet

by Decepticonsensual



Series: The Festival of Mortilus [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2014-11-18
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2637164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous requested: "The fancy wrappers, shapes and textures of Halloween energon treats are basically impossible to maneuver with claws, much to Whirl's irritation. He usually ends up smashing them into mush and throwing a big fit. This year, however, Rung settles next to him and quietly offers to help unwrap the candy."  Rated G, no warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the same timeline and roughly around the same time as “Crick Crack” (http://archiveofourown.org/works/2541725). Whirl’s opinions on the Lost Light command crew do not reflect my own. :)

“Almost got – frag!”

The voice was low – a rasping growl – but it rang all too clear in the deserted corridor.  Clear, and instantly familiar.  “C’mon, you – ah, _fraggit_!”  It was followed by a soft, metallic rustle… and then a disturbing  _crunch._

Rung paused.  Then he carefully subspaced the datapad he’d been working on before edging towards the junction at the end of the hallway.  Just before he reached the corner, he called out tentatively, because sneaking up on this particular patient without warning was a good way to get a set of claws wrapped around your throat.   _Again._ “Whirl?”

The discontented muttering, and the rustling that had begun again, came to a sudden halt.  After a moment, a single optic peered around the corner.  “Well, if it isn’t the Doc.”  There was a certain bitterness in Whirl’s tone, but it lacked its normal bite.  Rung stepped closer, keeping an optic on Whirl’s, watching the little shifts in expression that he was beginning to be able to decipher.  “What brings you down here, Eyebrows?”

“I find the quiet in these unused parts of the ship helps me think.”  Rung drew closer still, rounding the corner to stand beside him.

“Right.”  Whirl snorted – the mechanics of that never ceased to mystify Rung – and moved to rise.  “Well, in that case, I’ll just get out of your –”

“Are those from the Festival of Mortilus?” Rung asked brightly, gesturing to the small heap of colourfully wrapped energon sweets beside Whirl.  A few of the sweets lay scattered at a distance from the pile with their wrappers twisted and torn, and the candy inside clearly smashed to bits, oozing from the coloured foil across the floor.

“Yeah.  Thank Captain Great Ideas for that.”  Whirl’s rasp deepened and smoothed out as he slid into an imitation of Rodimus.  “On  _Earth,_ they put pretty, shiny wrappers on sweets, and make everybody go to other people’s quarters and beg for them like morons, so let’s do an  _Earth_ Mortilus Festival and wrap up all the candy in stupid foil!  It’ll be so exotic and  _cool._ And then we can go from door to door with orange plastic things that look like fleshies’ heads, and collect these things that we can’t even…”  The impression slipped, and the fight seemed to go out of Whirl.  “Ah, frag it all.  You want some of these, Doc?  I’m not gonna use them.”  One claw gestured carelessly at the pile.

“Thank you; that’s very kind.”  Rung gave him a subdued, but genuine, smile and settled on the floor, his back resting against the wall, across the pile from Whirl.  He snagged a candy and deftly unwrapped it, all the while keeping his attention on the copter.  “Rodimus’s ideas are… sometimes more enthusiastic than entirely thought through.”

Whirl’s optic narrowed in amusement – or at least what Rung thought was probably amusement.  “That’s the most backhanded way to call someone a stupid spawn of a glitch I’ve ever heard.”

“I wasn’t!” Rung protested, but Whirl continued to eye him with the same sly expression.  In the end, Rung popped the candy into his mouth to keep from showing his own amusement in return, since that would be deeply unprofessional.  The sweet wasn’t exactly as he remembered them from his youth, but it was  _good_ ; Swerve had clearly taken particular care in recreating the traditional festival treats.  It shattered at the slightest pressure of his dentae, turning into a mouthful of delightfully crunchy crystals and a sharp, sweet rush of syrup over his glossa.  He chewed slowly, relishing the familiar textures.  Swallowing almost reluctantly, he reached for a second candy and began to work on the wrapper.  “I found many elements of the celebrations interesting, in fact.  This… ‘trick-or-treating’ idea… may have been badly designed, but did you see Rewind’s compilation of horror vids?”

“Yeah, it was the funniest thing I…” Whirl’s voice trailed off as he glanced down.

Rung had the second candy unwrapped, and was holding it out.  Casually, as if they were sitting at a dining table and Whirl had asked him to pass a dish along.  Certainly not like he was doing Whirl any kind of  _favour,_ out of any kind of  _pity._ Just… just an absent kind of politeness, it seemed.

Whirl craned his neck, studying the treat.  Then, very delicately, he reached out and closed his claws around it, careful not to so much as nick Rung’s fingertips.

Rung had been wondering how Whirl intended to consume the sweets if he got them open.  Watching out of the corners of his optics, he got his answer:  Whirl used the tip of one claw to make a tiny incision in the surface of the candy, then snaked a siphon through it, letting him “drink” the sweetened filling.

“You know,” Rung remarked, taking off his glasses and polishing them, so that he was neither looking directly at Whirl, nor noticeably avoiding his optic, “I’ve never been overly fond of the filling of these.  A little too sweet for my taste.”  It wasn’t entirely a lie; the filling added to the overall flavour, but Rung could do without it, and the shell  _was_ his favourite part.

“Is that so.”  Whirl’s voice was flat, and for a moment Rung worried that he’d gone too far – that Whirl was going to take Rung’s casual façade as the therapist patronising him, jollying him along with transparent little lies.  He put his glasses back on, and openly met the copter’s gaze, forcing himself to relax and keep ventilating as Whirl’s head drew uncomfortably near his own.  That wide, suddenly unreadable yellow optic filled his vision, and made him feel like he’d been stripped down to the bare protoform.

After a long moment, Whirl silently held out the now-empty candy shell to him.

“Thank you.”  Rung took it and crunched down on it, smiling, even as he reached to unwrap another sweet and offer it to Whirl.

They both settled back against the wall, falling into a quiet rhythm – Whirl siphoning out the centres of the sweets and giving them to Rung, who chomped contentedly on the shells while unwrapping more sweets for Whirl.  When the stack began to dwindle, Rung idly picked up one of the bits of foil, and began folding it – lengthwise once, and then each side diagonally.  Whirl’s optic brightened with interest, and he leaned close to watch, his head almost resting on Rung’s shoulder.

Rung turned to him and held out the finished product.  “Drift taught me.”  On his palm was a tiny foil airplane.

Whirl scoffed.  “Show-off,” he said, not specifying whether he meant Drift or Rung.  But he lifted the plane gently by the tip of one wing, and turned it this way and that to study it.  And when Rung finally bid him goodnight, Whirl was still holding the little foil creation, cradled between his claws with a degree of care that Rung hadn’t known he possessed.


End file.
